Justice League: Uprising
by tess315
Summary: I don't expect this to get read, but that's okay. This is my take on the Justice League, and it's not comic accurate, and I really don't care. Lots of elements are reinvented, reimagined, and rewritten. Enjoy!
1. Chapter 1

Alan Scott touched his ring to the Lantern and subconsciously wondered, for the umpteenth time, how many more times he'd have to.

He was sitting cross-legged on the floor, the Lantern on a piece of cardboard on the carpet in front of him. glowing an enchanting shade of green. But it wasn't enchanting to him anymore. In fact, every night when he came shrieking down from the GLC satellite, he felt it was more of a chore to drag the Lantern out and put it on the cardboard and pray it wouldn't set his entire apartment building on fire.

He stared into it lazily, not thinking about anything in particular, but still lost in thought. How had he ended up like this? How had he gone from Alan Scott, The Green Lantern, The Leader Of The Green Lantern Corps And Savior Of The Universe, to Alan Scott the Honorary Consultant of the Green Lantern Corps and Part-Time Advisor to Edgar Lewis, The New Green Lantern And Leader Of The Green Lantern Corps And Savior Of The Universe?

Age.

He'd been voted (he liked to use the word _usurped_) from his position twenty years ago for being "too old-fashioned", but for a while, everyone at the GLC still valued his expertise and wisdom. And, of course, the fact that The Green had chosen specifically him to wield the ring and use the lantern and protect the universe.

But these days, the GLC seemed to put more significance on the, er, _non-Green_ parts of the operation. Like training a team of specialized fighters and developing powerful defense weapons. It was Edgar's doing; Alan knew he wasn't a firm believer in what he called "magic". He'd known that since he'd suggested him the team - he had wanted a realist to balance out the lofty-thinking other Greens that he'd found. What he hadn't expected was that realist to take out everything that made the GLC what it was.

Alan was beginning to wonder if Edgar was right.

He stared at the ring. Its glow had been decreasing in the years that followed Edgar's takeover of the GLC. Or maybe it wasn't the ring becoming dimmer - maybe it was the world around him becoming brighter.

Sliding the cover over the lantern, he put it back in the safe.


	2. Chapter 2

The depression seemed to follow Alan around the next day, looming over him like one of the alien monsters he'd fought when he was young. But he was apathetic, even though he kept catching the waning glow of the ring in the corner of his eye. Kept hearing snippets of progressive conversation as he made his way toward the third meeting room on the first floor (Room 47D) of the GLC Watchtower.

It wasn't _really_ a watchtower. That was just what he had chosen to call it. The satellite had undergone many changes since the Boys from A.R.G.U.S. had thrown it into space all those years ago. But at its core, it was the same place - just covered in newfangled improvements and bureaucratic red tape.

"Morning, Mr. Scott."

Alan glanced up at the smiling intern in front of him. "Morning, er..."

"Walker. Fabian Walker." He extended a gloved hand. "Lewis told me to wait here so I could tell you -"

"Tell me what?"

"The meeting's being held in the second meeting room on the second floor. Not here."

Alan sighed. "Which number is that?"

"I - I don't remember," Walker blushed.

"It's okay. I'll find it." He didn't remember to bid the intern goodbye as he left the room, because he was too busy wondering why Edgar had changed the rooms. Was there anything wrong with the first room?

His boots clicked on the shiny floors as he went up the stairs to the second floor. Alan didn't like the elevators; something told him that he shouldn't be getting somewhere without using his legs. He'd been understandably less than thrilled when the Slideways had been installed. The powerful teleporters didn't feel quite right to him. When he'd started the GLC, he'd had to live up here, in the Watchtower. Now? He, and every other member, could live whatever lives they wanted and still somehow work 23,600 miles away.

The corridor on the second floor was darker than usual. And quieter, he noticed, eyeing the sealed doors and questioning the lack of underfoot interns. When Walker said "second room", did he mean second room on the left? The right? Maybe he meant it in a chronological sense. He stood in the corridor, scratching his head, knowing he was making himself later.

He would have found it odd that the hall was so quiet, except he knew there was a sophisticated noise-cancellation system in place to keep eavesdropping at bay.

Still, just like with the Slideways, he felt like something was morally wrong with that system.

He tried a few doors, struggling with the handprint scanners as usual, to no avail. Each door slid away to reveal a dark room, still chairs, and lifeless screens.

Something told him he was off the course. He felt a bit lost (which was unusual for him). He glanced at his watch - the meeting had already started. Great. Now he was just cementing his reputation as an obsolete hamper to the GLC's growth.

Too regretful and tired to rush, he dragged himself back down the stairs to Room 47D. If Walker wasn't there, he was going to be ticked. And, sure enough, Room 47D was closed and silent. Snorting, glancing at his watch again, Alan realized he felt bewildered. Bemused. He wasn't surprised, but he wasn't happy about it, either. Why couldn't that stupid intern have been more clear?

The minutes that followed seemed like they passed in half the time. He went up and down the stairs at least eight times, indecisive of whether he should look for Walker or the right room. After trying every door on the second floor that he had clearance to enter, though, he was beginning to notice the sinking feeling in his stomach. Was something...up?

He stared up the stairwell to the third flight of stairs, spiraling upward toward the third floor. He didn't consciously decide to climb them. His feet moved up them, quietly, but confidently. The door slid away for him, and the light from the brightly lit third floor spilled in.

It was the uppermost deck of the Watchtower, and one of the only parts of the satellite that hadn't been altered, simply because removing that much glass in the vacuum of space wasn't practical. Windows, latticed with thick iron beams, stretched from floor to floor, culminating in a huge glass dome overhead. The echoes of the closing doors and hushed voices and tapping boots filled the air like fog.

Even though the interns in the bullpen below were all carrying on as usual, he felt as if they had all turned and looked at him as he came through the door.

An intern cleaning glass put down her squeegee and stood facing him, with her hands behind her back. "Is there something we can assist you with, Mr. Scott?"

"Nothing...in particular." He looked at the other interns. They were watching the interaction and possibly holding their breath. The silence was taut and stiff.

Then, the big doors at the other end of the bullpen slid open loudly, breaking the awkwardness. Alan furrowed his brows as green-clad Lanterns trickled out, talking amongst themselves animatedly. He watched them cross the bullpen, climb up the stairs, gesturing and laughing, then unanimously hesitate as they lit upon him standing in front of the door to the stairwell.

No one said a word. Alan just stared at the Lanterns, who stared back at him uncertainly.

Someone, though, was cutting through the crowd to the front, and they parted to make way for him. He and Alan locked eyes.

"Mr. Lewis," he said deliberately, "were you planning to tell me where the meeting was going to be held?"

Edgar chuckled, but not genuinely. "Morning, Alan. You didn't get the memo?"

"I was..." He sensed the nervousness in Edgar's demeanor. "...told wrong."

"Well, I'm awfully sorry about that." He flashed a smile. "Better luck next time, old friend." He started to slip off to the elevator, but Alan put a hand out to stop him.

"Say, shouldn't I know what happened in the meeting?"

Edgar's smile grew stiff on his face. "Not anything that concerns you," he said, trying not to sound condescending as he took Alan's hand off his lapel.

He wasn't speechless for long. "_Not anything that concerns me_? I'm the senior consultant. Everything ought to concern me, _Mister Lewis_." He enunciated the name sharply.

Edgar looked him dead in the eye, all amiability stripped from his face. "You're the _honorary_ senior consultant. If I decide something doesn't concern you, then it doesn't. No ifs, ands, or buts." Pushing past him, he slipped into the elevator, flanked by a few Lanterns who didn't want to be around to see what would happen next.

Alan clenched his fist. He felt the ring press into his palm, warming slightly as he tried to reign his anger in. Then he relaxed his hands and, telling himself that tantrums wouldn't solve anything, disappeared into the stairwell.


	3. Chapter 3

"'Green Lantern Corps Ostracizes Aliens'."

Lois rubbed the bridge of her nose. "If I have to tell you one more time to not be so direct, I'm going to get it tattooed across my forehead so I never have to say it again."

"Aren't we supposed to clue them into what's happened?" Clark folded the piece of notebook paper into thirds, then unfolded it again.

"Clue them in, not summarize it completely. Something like..." She picked at her cuticles. "'GLC Takes On Shocking Membership Policy'. Except more exciting."

"I wouldn't call it _shocking_."

"I would! This kind of discrimination is insane, especially in this age, after everything they've done for us."

He sat down on the corner of the desk. "But you know that some people just aren't comfortable with having aliens around."

"Oh, and they'll be so much more comfortable when we get attacked by some hostile again. If Coastal City picks up something like this, then Metropolis will too, and -" She stopped herself, taking a breath. "I just don't like it, Clark. I know that people looking for comfort often put aside sense."

He nodded slowly, thinking. "'GLC's Ruling Shocks Nation with Unexpected Anti-Alien Sentiment'?"

Lois snapped back from her reverie. "A little wordy, but now we're getting places." She pulled a printout of the press release out from under a stack of binders and scanned it _again_. "'Real human beings need to be calling the shots on the Earth's security.' Phooey. I wonder if Mr. -" (she squinted at the paper) "_Edgar Lewis_ remembers when Braniac tried to level the city. Or when Mix-yes-spit-lick blocked all the highways with the queue line for his fake circus."

"Mxyzptlk isn't a threat, Lois."

"He may not be a threat, but he's an embarassment. And an alien. And who stopped him from cheating Metropolis out of thousands of dollars?"

Clark rubbed the back of his neck. "Superman."

"Superman. An _alien_. Same goes for Braniac, Black Zero, Mongul, and that's just here in Metropolis. Who knows how many more will come fighting down here, and who knows what we'll do if Superman can't help us." She flumped down in a chair.

"Sounds to me like you need to write an editorial."

"I wanna do more than just talk about it, Clark. I wanna _do_ something."

He glanced at his watch. "You'll have to do it later. We need to get this done if it's going to be in the evening paper."

She sighed. "Right."


End file.
